


the fire in your eyes burns brighter still

by enres



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Gen, Multiple Lives, Reincarnation, Technoblade Has Braided Hair (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), hes gonna die, idk how to use tags, now sleep, technosad, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28567350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enres/pseuds/enres
Summary: The attention of the gods, hm? Just what he needed. He had a favor to ask of them.Techno grows up as a prince in a previous life. In his youth, he caught the attention of the gods, and was given a path to ascend to their realm. But Technoblade had other plans. Little did he know that path would bathe him in blood....basically a more reincarnation-based take on a techno backstory with multiple lives (different worlds). may or may not follow certain plot points of dream smp + sleepy bois wink wonk
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 107





	1. freeze my heart, until i turn to stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno in snow, what will he do? Cry and try to not think of past. Mmm sad yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is half the length I normally write I'm tired ples forgive

His feet sank into the snow, step by step. He did not know how far he had traveled, how long the wind had beaten at his bones, how long since the seemingly endless torrents of rain had turned to snow, biting and pinching at his skin. 

He only knew to keep going. 

His crown had long since been blown off by the harsh, swirling gales, likely buried under the snow in a faraway place, never to be found. He smiled grimly. It was better that way, was it not? He didn’t need the constant weight, the constant reminder circling around his skull. Reminding him of what had occurred, what he had done. 

How long ago had it been? Days? Months? How long had he been trudging through the desolate tundra, boots barely cutting through the heavy layers of snow, limbs numb from the constant motion without a chance for rest. Or were they numb from the cold. 

What did it matter anyways? The loss of feeling. It was comforting. Escaping, avoidance. It was far more bearable than whatever he had felt those days (weeks? months?) ago. 

When he had dashed through the rain, slipping every other step, sinking into the soft mud, only to pick himself back up again, gasping for the air that never stayed in his lungs long enough, and continue running, running away. 

As he ran, the stabbing pain in his chest seemed to dull. So he kept running, distancing himself from that godforsaken castle, that damned place where he, where he had seen-

He didn’t want to feel anything. He could feel the pain starting to return, a prickling in his chest that threatened to impale his heart and crush his will-

Will. His Will. 

Techno doubles over, gasping. The memories flood in front of his eyes, and they shatter. The shards pierce his body, he squeezes his eyes shut, but it does nothing. The images are imprinted into his mind. His chest, his chest is burning, he feels the cold steel of a thousand swords impaled in his chest and his lungs- they are filling with blood and he can’t breathe, he can’t-

Eyes blur over. _“Techno! Techno! Come here!” A hand is reaching towards him. It’s small and outstretched, there is a bracelet with a blue pendant looped around its wrist. His own hand reaches out for it, his is the same size. He interlocks his fingers with the hand, it is warm and fits perfectly with his own. The owner of the hand laughs, and it sounds like wind chimes and spring rain. It’s the most beautiful sound he has ever heard._

_The laughter fades off and his hand morphs into one much larger, more calloused. The hand with the blue pendant also grew in size, but had less callouses. They twirled a pen between their fingers, graceful in their complex movements. “Techno. I know what you’re thinking, I know your thoughts on this whole leadership thing. But Techno-” The pen twirling stopped- “Techno, trust me. I reckon I can make this work. This whole, thing-” The hand waved the pen like a baton- “It’s just like conducting a symphony, innit? Making sure all the parts are working together! And even if I can’t do it all on my own,” The hand nudged his own, a chuckle escaping its owner. “I’ve got you, don’t I?”_

_His hand changes again, just as calloused as before, but there is a scar running across his knuckles. He is gripping a sword. The handle is well crafted and fits snugly into his hold. The blade is dripping in blood. A hand reaches out to his, and he grasps it at once, dropping his sword. He holds the hand tightly but it still trembles, it stains his fingers gray with soot. It takes him a moment to realize he is the one that’s shaking. “My...symphony.” The voice is hoarse, barely audible. It sucks in a rattling breath, before breaking into a fit of coughing. There is blood, there is ash. “My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished!” Techno can hear the crazed smile in the words. “It’s gone, it’s all gone...down into the ground, where it should’ve always been. Technoblade…” The voice laughs, maniacal and harsh, and Techno is jarred by the harsh difference. The chimes had been torn down, the rain had spiraled into a cloudburst. “Technoblade, where were you?”_

The snow. He laid in the snow, curled up, his arms hugging his chest. Waiting for the pain to subside. Waiting for the snow to thaw his burning heart and numb his pounding head. Waiting for the teartrails on his cheeks and lashes to freeze over, because they burned too. 

The snowfield’s embrace was welcoming, and he entered it willingly. Its cold arms lulled him to sleep, and his mind drifted back, back to when it was fine. Back when he had something besides a shell of a body and heart of regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to new readers! - hello, i hope you enjoyed! the next two chapters were written before this, so some continuity might be off if you read it before i edit it, but basically all you need to know is that the next two chapters are talking about what happened in the past, the events leading up to the first chapter. 
> 
> to ppl who read this before feb 14 2021 - yup i decided to change where i started this fic. sorry for not adding chapters for so long, im lazy and kinda lost motivation before deciding to write a new first chapter, BUT. good news i do have the (almost) entire storyline worked out with the details and all that good stuff so much less uncertainty and (hopefully) more updates. 
> 
> I'm kinda in a not fun situation irl that I need to work on so I can't promise regularity. but thank you so much for the kudos and comments, I appreciate them and you very much! This is my first fic, so the fact that people actually read it and liked it? tears bro :') get 8 hrs of sleep u deserve it man


	2. the life of a would-be attention seeker

He had it all. The young prince, adored by all who rest their eyes on him, loved by his people. His uncommonly bright colored hair, vivid as the embers of a setting sun, had made up much of the talk around town when he was a child, and his inborn tenderness to all living creatures, even the castle mice, was praised in and out of the castle walls. 

His adamant refusal to join his father and brothers on night hunts was cooed over from the women, even the men couldn’t help but chuckle at the young boy’s escapades from his older brothers. They always caught him eventually; after all, he was a mere child skirting corners and tripping over his own feet while his brothers, who all towered over him, barely broke a sweat in these chases. 

Once the little prince had been captured in giant bear hugs and settled down in front of their father, brothers knelt down to eye level, soft words were spoken, bows and sword sheaths were dangled in front of his eyes, attempting to pique the child’s interest. He would whine and beg, wide eyes pleading with his father to let him stay in the castle, but it was futile. Hunting trips and combat lessons had to happen eventually. He was a prince after all, he had inescapable duties to fulfill, try as he might to outrun them. 

And so he would be plopped onto a horse's saddle in front of one of his brothers and they would ride off into the forest, torches held high, the young prince clutching the folds of his brother’s cloak. 

But time passes, and people grow out of their childish tendencies. The prince was certainly no exception. 

He had grown into a steady and tranquil youth . He didn’t speak much, but when he did, it was eloquent and well thought out. His voice, low and rumbling, clashed interestingly with his bright hair, long and untidy. His eyes still held the same gentleness he had had as a child. 

It had been quite the task to teach him combat, as he naturally gravitated towards books and the castle’s vast library, mazelike and filled with thousands of texts. The slightly unsettling nature of the library had frightened him at first, but as the weeks passed by, he found himself spending longer periods of time exploring, fingers skimming lightly over the spines before he would find one that captured his attention. 

As he wandered the heavy wooden shelves day after day, he had come across older texts, far older than he had encountered before. They were binded strangely, and the paper was much thicker than he was used to. He had flipped through the pages, eyes glowing. The text was written in faded characters, nearly unreadable to his eyes. Interest stirred, he had brought the pages close to his face and began reading. _The Art of War._ The descriptions of strategy and victory had inspired him, and the youth finally, of his own accord, began combat training with his brothers, fresh determination setting his brow. 

To the delight of his mentors, he became especially skilled in swordsmanship, with high marks for archery as well. His sword wielding became almost a second nature to him, he handled the blade like it was an extension of himself. 

He had quite a special attachment towards his horse, a gift from his late father. His horse was his silent companion, comforting and steadfast. He did love his brothers, of course, but most of them were especially loud and rambunctious, and he couldn’t spend long with them before his smile became strained, a headache starting to brew behind his temples. 

The prince didn’t wander in public spaces anymore, preferring the not-as-worn paths in nearby forests, where he would spend a day or two walking through the brush with his horse, specks of sunlight barely cutting through the dense foliage as he went deeper and deeper. The prince’s hair, uncut since birth, was braided securely around his head. Simple golden thread looped in and around the strands, in place of a crown. A leather sheathed sword hung loosely from his belt, the encrusted diamonds glistening in the handle being the only indication this sword was anything but ordinary. 

At 17, he was known for his calm and unwavering demeanor. His childhood’s blind love for all living creatures was replaced with quiet respect as he matured. He participated in almost every night hunt, and while he had never once scored first in kill count, his kills were consistently praised for their precision. Cleanly done, through the eye, minimal blood. And always one of each. 

Night hunt winners often scored highest by setting traps in dense populations of smaller creatures, rabbits, badgers, even squirrels, and camping out till morning before reaping the rewards, but the prince never used traps. He would simply walk into the forest, sword still in its sheath, gripping a bow, a quiver full of arrows slung over one shoulder, a cloth bag over the other. At dawn, he’d be first to return, quiver empty, bag full. He occasionally returned hauling a deer or wild boar on his back. The animals he laid out from his bag could almost be mistaken for sleeping, if not for the arrow pierced through each of their skulls, snapped off at each end, leaving just the shaft. 

It was after one ordinary night hunt that he decided to cut through the town, rather than going on his normal loop through the forest back to the castle. He had not gone directly through the town in a few weeks, and he had a strange urge in the back of his mind to go visit. _Go to the town,_ his subconscious seemed to whisper. _Go visit._ And so he did. 

The prince walked down the well-trodden paths to the town, pulling up the hood of his cloak as he did so. He was alone, and didn’t want to be recognized lest it lead to unnecessary conversation. The townspeople were very kind, he remembers well from his childhood, but oh so talkative, and he wasn’t exactly in the mood for small talk at the moment. Then again, he never was in that mood. 

He passed through the town quite smoothly, with only a few glances thrown in his direction, skimming over the tall hooded figure. Travelers were common in these parts and nobody was surprised or unsettled by the individual gliding through the streets. 

The prince was just about at the center of the town, when he heard scurrying feet, huffed breaths, loud voices getting closer. 

A townsman, cheeks flushed red, yelled out: “That old man! He’s received another vision!”

Confused voices piped up from the growing crowd, people gathering to see the commotion. The prince wove between people, and found himself a few barrels to sit on where his line of sight was unobstructed. 

“Old man? What old man? There’s at least twenty in this crowd right now!” An irritated woman responded. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten!” The man cried excitedly. “The old man in the tree! One of the advisors to the old king! He has had another vision!” 

The prince felt his stomach twist slightly at the mention of his dead father, but pushed it down to focus on the man’s words. Another vision? His father had trusted that advisor and his strange visions, but the prince had always had his suspicions. 

The man continued. “He has had a god-sent vision. Two weeks from now, a festival will be held. The gods will be observing! A mortal that catches their attention and entertains them well will be rewarded!”

The crowd descended into shouts of excitement. “The gods?” “Their attention?” “Rewards!!”

The prince leaned against the barrels wordlessly, but a small smile began to form on his lips, and a plan in his mind. He traced a finger around the diamond encrusted in his sword handle. 

The attention of the gods, hm? Just what he needed. He had a favor to ask from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooo a festival. a festival's never gone wrong...right? nah. this festival will be just fineee...
> 
> first chapter done. i know that was a lot of setting up for the story and description and stuff cuz idk how to plan engaging chapters :/
> 
> next chapter will prob have less description and more stuff actually happening lmao
> 
> spoilers: training arc (pt 1??) maybe a bit of festivities too huehueh


	3. the favour's prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT FEB 14 2021 NOTE - hello :) i made new chapter and it is now first chapter. also happy valentines day. if u have no valentine, you are now my valentine <3\. that is all.  
> \-----------------------------------------  
> yooooo it's been what, almost 20 days? i was gonna update this two weeks ago, you gotta believe me. but here i am, in the late a.m.'s, absolutely screwing myself over after I just fixed my sleep schedule. fuck. 
> 
> anyways there's a reason (kinda) why i haven't been updating (more explained in end notes) so this chapter is prob gonna seem very disconnected from the last one (i feel like my writing style has completely changed...wat) but i wanted an excuse to practice writing angst and dialogue, cuz 80% of second chapter. was literally. a character description. BUT THESE TWO CHAPTERS ARE PART OF THE SAME STORY I PROMISE.

*1 month ago*

“Where’s Techno?”

“I haven’t heard much news. He left for the night hunt a month ago, it’s normal for him to stay out for weeks at a time, is it not?”

“A month is pushing it. He knows the conditions of the state. He knows the situation I am in. Now is hardly the time to go missing for a month.” Wilbur paced around the room, fingers running through his hair anxiously. His advisor stood to the side soundlessly, his expression one of apathy, which he managed to rearrange into mild concern everytime Wilbur turned in his direction. 

A knock sounded at the door. Wilbur looked up to see a figure, hooded and masked, silently stepping into the room. His advisor tensed up immediately, fingers reaching for the dagger strapped on his belt, but Wilbur knew who it was. The loose strands of hair curling around the figure’s ears, roseate in the soft candlelight, the dark red cloak hung over their shoulders, color barely noticeable in the shadow of the doorway. 

Wilbur stopped pacing, relaxed his posture before immediately stiffening again. He nodded to his advisor. “You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”  
The man bowed, and tentatively circled around the hooded figure, still fingering the handle of his dagger. He walked to the door, closing it on the way out. 

Wilbur’s expression fully relaxed into a tired smile and he strode over to the figure.

“Hello Techno.” 

A voice answered from under the hood, slightly raspy but filled with familiarity.  
“Hullo.” 

Techno pulled his hood back. His ruby eyes wandered the room his brother had been inhabiting since his sudden rise to kingship. 

Papers strewn all over the floor, plates of half-eaten meals placed precariously on the table’s edge. There were maps tacked onto the walls, red ink encircling some territories, slashing over others, staining the walls scarlet akin to a crime scene. What a mess. His gaze fell back on his brother, who was quite honestly, fitting in very well with his environment. His hair was messy and long, curling over his eyes, his clothes rumpled and askew. The dark blue velvet coat was closer to black, and its gold buttons were dull and faded. He had two impressively large dark circles hollowing out his eyes, indicating days without sleep. Huh. So that makes the both of them. 

“I see you’ve been...quite busy, Wilbur.”

“State affairs, the normal. Not anything out of the ordinary, of course.” The older brother ran a hand through his curls carelessly, but his eyes darkened and sarcasm tinged his words. 

Techno took a step forward. “Is everything alright, Wilbur? What’s happened?”

Wilbur observed his fingers with sudden interest. “Nothing has happened, everything’s fine, everything’s...fine.” 

Techno stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. 

“Everything’s…”

He started speaking very rapidly, hands flying through his hair, and he began pacing the length of the room again as all his worries spilled out into the room. 

“I- I don’t know what to do. The neighboring states, all they do is send their diplomats over, day in and day out. They refuse to leave without speaking to me, and when I agree, it’s all worthless, they never, _never_ , come to an agreement. And I know why they’re coming, they just want to see this kingdom crumble from the inside out, they _know_ I know. And they keep coming back, because I am the laughingstock of their court. I am their entertainment.”

Wilbur pauses and sucks in a breath, as if bracing himself for continuing. Techno remains silent, but his eyes have softened as he looks at his brother. 

“I know what they say to their courts. I know. They say ‘there is nothing to fear from them. Their King is nothing more than a mere boy, inexperienced and uninformed. He has no power in that castle, let alone his people. Why, even his own _brothers_ -” Wilbur stops suddenly, eyes hardening. He clenches his hands into fists, looks away from Techno. His words hang in the air between them, sharp-edged and ice cold. The room suddenly feels unbearably quiet. 

Wilbur continues, voice noticeably lower. The sarcasm had left his tone, leaving only anger, only hurt. “‘Even his own brothers...don’t see him fit as a leader.’” 

Techno looks down at Wilbur’s hands. There are slivers of red on his palm, where he had dug his nails into his own flesh. 

“Wilbur, I-”

“I know that you and Tommy trust me, Techno. I know that out of all our brothers, you and Tommy are the only ones that support me. But Tommy is still so young and naive about how the world works, and you…” Wilbur lets out a harsh laugh, back still turned to Techno. “I can’t exactly expect you to always care, can I? To always be there?”

Techno jolted back at Wilbur’s last words. Even as he opened his mouth to say _Wilbur, that’s not true, of course I care, I’ll always be there for you_ , the words died on his tongue, never reaching open air. He knew Wilbur was right. 

He never did enjoy the political aspects of his life, choosing to avoid them as much as possible. It just isn’t who he is. Techno is drawn to knowledge, entranced by his pursuit of perfection of his skills. It was what led him to spend hours everyday in the castle’s library, what pushed him to train with his sword until his entire body ached, and he succumbed to exhaustion. It is what led him to month long ventures past the confines of the castle walls, past the obligations he had. 

He didn’t want the responsibilities of governing a state, he would much rather forgo all of that for nights spent with the company of his horse, sky scattered with starlight, his brothers by his side, far from any stately obligations. But his heart twisted with guilt as he realized his brother has to carry all that responsibility, likely even more, and has been for a few months now, ever since their father’s death. Techno can run away, leave behind this castle at any time. But Wilbur cannot. 

Techno’s silence says nothing and ten thousand words. Wilbur smiles, still facing the wall, position unchanged. He had expected no different from his reticent, indifferent brother, but at the same time, a small part of him had hoped that maybe, just maybe he would say that he cares, he would always be there. That same part of him was now screaming in desperation, _JUST SAY IT, PLEASE SAY IT, TELL ME I’M NOT ALONE_. Wilbur’s smile widens further, broken and wretched. He closes his eyes. 

Something trickles out of the corner of his eye, dampening his eyelashes. It drips down his cheek, the traitorous thing, and onto the stone floor. It seems to echo through the room, the crackling of the dying fire doing nothing to soften the sound, nor thaw his frozen body. 

Footsteps tread lightly behind him. The small part of him screaming suddenly quiets, reduced to a hushed murmurs, bated breath. Something touches his shoulder, shooting red hot spikes into it, and Wilbur flinches at the feeling, but it fades quickly, and he feels his back enveloped in something warm. It brushes against his hand, and he registers the soft cotton fabric. Techno’s cloak. 

A voice cuts into the stagnant air behind him. 

“Wilbur, I…” The part of Wilbur starts to rise in volume again, but demanding has turned into pleading. _Just say it please say it_. 

“I...I will find a way to help you. I promise. I promise, Wilbur.” 

The voice is virtually inexpressive, but Wilbur knows Techno well enough to hear the subtle notes of emotion intertwined in the words. He hears the sorrow in his brother’s voice, he hears the shaky determination in the repetition of his promise, as if Techno was trying to reassure himself rather than Wilbur. _I promise, Wilbur_. That part of him had calmed down for the most part, content with the promise, but it still nagged at the corners of his mind. _He doesn’t care about you. He won’t be there when it matters_. But for now, just for now, he could keep it in the corners of his mind. 

Quiet footsteps exit the room, the door shuts with a soft _thwmp_. 

Wilbur grasps at the corners of the cloak, wrapping it tighter around himself. The warmth melts away his frozen body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. that was. not very good. angst + dialogue two things i really have almost zero experience writing and two things i want to get better at. (ples give feedback you can be as mean as you want i don't mind)  
> turns out wilbur is already going a bit, uh, crazy, huh? i guess irrational fears of betrayal and inevitable loneliness just runs in the family. did a lot of pov switching, hopefully it still made sense. might fuck around and delete this in a few hours when i have actually slept and can think haha. or maybe just strongly edit who knows who knows
> 
> anyways why have i not been updating? well well well you see when i started writing the first chapter, i maybe had only one or two parts of the plot thought out. very smart right? so when i sat down to start writing the next chapter, i realized that i had no fucking clue what to write. cue sporadic bouts of writing inspiration, bullet points in the notes app, then i realizing that i wanted to replace the first chapter and start at a completely different plot point because (as stated before), ch 1 was essentially character description. but then i realized i was lazy and that i had not posted in almost 20 days. so i spent far too long writing something that won't make a lot of sense to the plot until later, while i disputes with i whether or not to delete the first chapter. (i am so sorry to whoever is actually reading through this, it is very early in the morning, i cannot think) 
> 
> tldr. i have been figuring out plot and stuff. will i delete first ch and rearrange some of the content rn? no. i am lazy. but in the future? hm it is possible.   
> this end notes section is very long. :( my audience retention nooo. to whoever is still reading: mwah get enough sleep your brain deserves it goodbye enres signing out i need sleep
> 
> feb 14 2021 - many days have passed. I have made new first chapter. writing skills still unable to be found. good night


End file.
